


Changes.

by Jackmerlin



Category: The Marlows - Antonia Forest
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:36:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackmerlin/pseuds/Jackmerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <strong>Prompt:</strong>
</p>
<p>I am longing to meet Philip, the 'hairy monster' with or without his rock band!  An encounter with Miranda or Nicola could be interesting; an encounter with Patrick or one of the male Marlows could be even more interesting!  Is he an ethereal, folk-rock type - is he anything like Jan (how do he and Jan get on, by the way?) - is he a heartbreaker?  Anything goes as far as content is concerned.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Changes.

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Antonia_Forest_Fanworks_2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Antonia_Forest_Fanworks_2015) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> I am longing to meet Philip, the 'hairy monster' with or without his rock band! An encounter with Miranda or Nicola could be interesting; an encounter with Patrick or one of the male Marlows could be even more interesting! Is he an ethereal, folk-rock type - is he anything like Jan (how do he and Jan get on, by the way?) - is he a heartbreaker? Anything goes as far as content is concerned.

NOTES: This is set in the same time line as Cricket Term (published 1974) and it takes place three and a bit years later.

In ‘End of Term‘, Janice comes from Norfolk, has a doctor father and three brothers. At the end of ‘Cricket Term’ when Jan says her ‘elder brother Phillip’ has become a hairy monster, there is no suggestion that one of the other brothers could fill his place in joining their uncle and becoming a solicitor. So I’ve assumed the other two are much younger than Philip and Jan. (This makes them a little on the young side for going wildfowling in a punt, as described in EOT. Philip as I have imagined him would rather watch wild birds than shoot them; so I think the two younger ones were probably allowed to come along and look at the ducks only if they promised to do exactly what Phil and Jan told them.)  
I have also imagined that Jan got her Prosser quite young, possibly when she was in the Seconds.

 

In the loneliest, seemingly endless hours of the night Jan hadn’t been able to sleep and so was in the darkened kitchenette making tea when the phone rang. She answered it on the first ring, with the now familiar mixed feelings of apprehension and resignation. She sighed as she heard her brother‘s voice, as usual trying and failing to sound abjectly apologetic.  
“I’m on my way,” she told him wearily, putting the phone down. She slipped into the room that doubled as bedroom and sitting room, eying the sleeping hump under the bedclothes as she silently pulled on jeans and jumper. At the doorway she paused on her way out, then turned and said very softly, “I’ve got to go and pick up my brother. Let yourself out if I’m not back.” At least she’d said it, if there was a fuss later. This was going to be one of those occasions when she would much rather be on her own, which always inexplicably caused hurt and astonishment to other people. As if she owed it to them to be in need of their support. Thinking this as she went out of the door into the grey dawn, she acknowledged that she had already decided that this was yet another relationship which wasn’t going to last beyond the initial sexual attraction.  
She drove through empty streets in her battered Ford, a present from her uncle when she chose to study law, to the police station. Her brother had the grace to look rueful as he was delivered into her reluctant care. He hadn’t been charged with anything this time, simply been left in a cell to stew for a while then read the riot act.  
“Did I interrupt anything?” Philip asked her. “Or anyone?”  
“Nothing important,” she answered shortly. He cast her an astute brotherly look, the effect of which was slightly spoiled by the bruise which was darkening on his cheek, and the blood and dirt which was matted through the stubble on his jaw.  
“None of it’s as bad as it looks,” he said, as she inspected him. He was just at the tipping point between being really very drunk and really very hung over.  
“Get in,” she said, and drove him to a café famous for providing the largest, cheapest breakfast known to students and late-night party-leavers. She didn’t say anything until they had both consumed a huge fry-up with extra toast and tea. Then when they were pushing crusts round in the last of the egg yolk, she said finally, “This can’t keep happening.”  
Their eyes met. “It’s alright for you,” he said.. “We can’t all be dutiful law students.”  
“You know I don’t mean that. But there must be a way of doing your thing.”  
“There was,” he said, his voice bleak. They were both silent, thinking.  
The band Philip had formed with three school friends had worked. His friend Adrian’s off-beat, dark but poetic lyrics set to Philip’s music had created a sound that the people who filled rooms above pubs to hear them appreciated. They practised obsessively and played hard, honing a sound which was starting to make an impression on the odd A and R man who had been seen at the back of their gigs. It was all on the verge of taking off for them when Adrian was found in a coma on his bathroom floor that he never woke up from. That it was a diabetic coma rather than anything to do with drugs was an irony lost on Philip’s uncle who had washed his hands of Philip when he threw up his respectable offer of a place in his solicitors’ firm. The remaining members of the band had tried to carry on without their friend and lead-singer but they had faltered, failed and fallen apart. Philip had spent the last few months bumming on friends’ floors, sometimes busking for money, sometimes surviving on the small amounts Jan could lend him, pared from her student grant.  
“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she said.   
“I know. I’m a sad disappointment to you,“ he said in a voice of wry agreement. He had always been her funny, clever, self-mocking, big brother. Her defender and protector. When she was little he had made her a den out of old curtains and they had hidden in it when their mother’s voice downstairs had become too suddenly, randomly frightening. Philip had a small guitar then, barely more than a toy, but he strummed along on it to songs he had taught himself, singing silly made-up words to make her laugh. Once, one of mother’s storms had thrown them out in the garden and slammed the door on them; Philip made up stories about the family of weeds who poked through the cracks between the bricks, and the ‘weed-fairies’ who lived in them - who apparently lived to play tricks on the flower-fairies.   
“Where am I taking you back to?” she asked as an influx of early morning customers forced them to give up their table. Philip named the friend whose sofa he was currently living on. “Why don’t you call him when you need picking up in the middle of the night?” she asked.  
Philip shrugged. “Because you have a car. And I know you’ll be in. Besides …it’s nice to see you.”  
As she started the car and pulled into the road, Philip rummaged through her glove compartment. “Still here!” he exclaimed in triumph, pulling out her tin of sweets. “Can I have one?”  
“Of course. Look, Phil..”  
“Looking. What at?”  
“You can really play the guitar. I mean, you are really good aren’t you?”  
“Modesty forbids and all that..”  
“But I mean, if you tried, you ought to be able to get some session work, oughtn’t you?”  
Philip simply shrugged, frowning.  
“You could get paid for doing what you love. Play with different people. See what opportunities come up in the future… What you’re doing now isn’t getting you anywhere.” Jan stopped, knowing she had said enough. She knew from experience not to go on about things with Philip. All she could do was plant a seed and hope it would take hold. She drove the rest of the way in silence.  
She dropped him off outside his friend’s flat. “Thanks sis,” he said nonchalantly. He leaned over to give her a scratchy peck on the cheek. “I’m afraid I’ve eaten all your barley sugar.”

 

It wasn’t unusual for Jan and Phil to go several weeks or even months without being in contact, so Jan wasn’t unduly concerned at not hearing from Phillip for a while. She thought it was probably a good sign that there had been no more middle-of-the-night phone calls.   
Neither of them were going home for Christmas. Their younger brothers had adapted seamlessly to the housekeeper becoming their step-mum, but for Phil and Jan it was too late to start playing happy families with their father’s new wife. Returning from a party on Christmas Eve Jan found a thin, square package on the table in the hallway of the house where she roomed. Unwrapping it she found an odd assortment of singles and albums, none of them by artists she knew or particularly liked. She was puzzled until, about to throw out the brown parcel paper, she saw scrawled in Philip’s untidy handwriting, ‘Things are looking up. Listen out for some under-rated guitar playing on the backing tracks. I owe you a breakfast. P’

 

Nicola and Miranda had met, as was traditional, on the roof, but the bitter January weather had driven them in to the Sixth Form Common Room. Skipping over the tedium of the coming spring term, Miranda was looking ahead to half-term.  
“I don’t know” said Nicola. “Are the tickets terribly expensive?”  
“They were my Christmas present, and Dad gave me two so I could take someone with me. It’s the perfect excuse to come and stay. Please say you will. You’ll practically be doing Dad a favour - he won’t have worry so much about me being out at a pop concert and out late if you’re with me,” said Miranda, at her most persuasive.  
“It’s Lawrie who’s really keen on him,” said Nicola doubtfully.  
“Well, I’m not inviting Lawrie for half-term,” said Miranda briskly. “And you do like him too.”  
“You know what she’s like. She’ll kick up such a fuss if she finds out I’m going,” said Nicola gloomily.  
“Well, it’s time she grew up, isn’t it?” said Miranda firmly. “You’re coming, and that’s that!”  
“I haven’t got anything remotely suitable to wear,” protested Nicola.  
“There’s no such thing as ‘suitable’ for this! You can wear anything at all! Besides, you can borrow something of mine if you like.”  
“Well, ok, yes then. If you’re sure about the tickets,” said Nicola, who once she was finally committed to the idea started to think that a David Bowie concert was going to be a very interesting thing to go to.

 

Philip rang her at a perfectly sensible time early one evening. Jan could hear a smile behind his voice even as she answered the phone.   
“I’ve been doing a bit with this band,” he started. “One of their guys was in an accident. So they want me to go on tour with them. Want to know who we’re opening for?”  
Even Jan was impressed when he told her. “I’ll send you some tickets,” he promised. “And backstage passes. You can bring someone.”

Jan was undecided over what to do with her spare ticket. Of course there were any number of people who would be pleased to come, who would be flattered even to be invited by her. And if it was just the concert it would be no problem asking someone along. But it was the thought of going backstage afterwards and having to do introductions that made her hesitate. If it could be a quick ‘hi’ in passing, that would be fine, but with Phil one never knew…  
An acquaintance of Jan had once compared her, rather bitterly, to a deep, still pool whose surface never so much as rippled, but whose depths could hide secrets far below. If that was true then Philip was a river in full flood, a raging torrent which threw up all sorts of debris as it rushed on its way. If Jan dealt with things by locking them away, Phil dealt with them by talking about them.   
In some ways it had been easier for her. Being awarded a Prosser had meant Jan had been able to stay on at Kingscote even when their father gave up work because their mother couldn’t be left at home alone all day. Philip had left his Prep school to go to the local Grammar. Pregnant with their twin baby brothers, and then breast feeding, Mum refused to take any medication. Philip had gone home from school every day to a Mum who didn‘t behave as mums were supposed to behave. Jan for much of the year had not lived with either the wild, tumultuous rides of Mum’s highs or the lacerating streams of verbal abuse that came from the dark depths of her lows. And if she had secretly dreaded the holidays, Philip had dreaded going to school in case something happened while he was gone. And when Mum had finally, fatally carried out her constant threat to harm herself, Jan had not been there to live with her father’s bewildered grief and sense of failure. Phil, when very drunk, had once confided in Jan that the first split-second reaction he’d had to Mum’s death was relief, and the guilt of that relief had stalked him ever since, despite the wave of loss that had followed it. But caught up in the nonsenses of life at boarding school, Mum’s illness and death had seemed remote and unreal, almost as if they were happening to someone else’s family. So it became second nature to Jan to shut it away and not talk about it.  
Phil, like Jan, never made a sob story out of their childhood, never used it as an excuse for anything that went wrong in his adult life. But he could and did talk openly about it in a way Jan never would. And the thought of something being said, even in passing, and triggering off questions, sympathy, possibly even hurt or offence at her never having mentioned it .. Well, she just couldn’t be bothered with all that. It would be easier to go on her own.

 

It was an impressive concert, Jan had to admit. Phil was clearly having the time of his life playing to a bigger crowd than he was used to. In the gap between the support act finishing and the main act coming on, Jan was able to brandish her pass and go backstage where Phil and the rest of the band were exuberant with success. She even caught a glimpse of Bowie himself, looking gaunt and stretched too thin, which made her worry about Phil if he were ever to make it really big. Then she had returned to her seat to watch, after Phil had made her promise to come round afterwards and let him buy her dinner.  
At the end she saw no point in struggling to push through the crowds to get out. She stayed in her seat until the main rush had gone. She made her way up the aisle, past other odd stragglers, then unexpectedly a girl coming out of a row of seats looked straight at her and exclaimed “Jan!”.  
A jumble of faces and mismatched names whirled through her memory. Blue eyes, fair hair, the face like a carved mediaeval angel. Then the girl’s friend moved behind her, and with an instant leap of recognition, Jan realised which one this must be. “It’s Nicola, isn’t it? I wanted to say Rowan,” she said candidly. Then, as Nicola seemed pleased rather than put out, she explained, “She must have been your age now the last time I saw her.” Then she turned and smiled calmly at that splendid, imperious face, “Miranda, you look fantastic!” How awfully auntish I’m sounding, she thought. Miranda had grown taller and thinner; she was wearing a crisp, high collared white shirt and fitted waistcoat and looked effortlessly glamorous.  
‘How are you?’s and ‘what are you doing here?’s were asked and half-answered. They veered between everyone speaking at once, then no-one knowing what to say next. They were all awkwardly hesitating, on the verge of saying, well so long, nice to have seen you, when an unbidden impulse made Jan say, “Actually, if you’re not rushing off, I’m meeting my brother backstage. Fancy coming to see?”  
Why did I do that, she wondered, as they eagerly agreed and they were walking along the corridor to the rear of the building. Am I having a Lois Sanger moment, showing off to the Juniors? Philip, however, cleaned of sweat and stage make-up, seemed not to mind that she had acquired company. He said he was starving and suggested they all go on to eat.   
Miranda and Nicola exchanged glances. “I don’t know,” said Miranda doubtfully. “Dad might start worrying if we’re late.”  
“You could call him from a box,” suggested Nicola practically.  
“Yes,” added Philip. “Say you’ve met up with an old school friend whose very kind and very responsible older brother is taking you out for an Indian? Either of you ever had Indian before?”  
Neither of them had. They followed Philip and Jan through the streets, threading their way past the crowds of people emptying out of pubs at chucking out time. Soon they were entering a restaurant where they were met by the heady and unfamiliar smell of spices.   
Miranda disappeared, firstly to use the phone, then to the ladies, because ever since meeting Jan she had been worrying that her make-up might be smudged all over her face, or her hair look a sight. Relieved on that account she returned to find the others seated on red, shiny seats at a table for four.  
They ordered the meal for four, because that way Philip said they could try everything and decide what they liked, and four bottles of Indian beer. Janice said dryly, “Quite like old times, isn’t it? I shall have to resist the urge to dole out everyone’s food for them.”  
Nicola, seated opposite Philip saw he looked puzzled and explained, “Jan used to be our table prefect.”  
He was amused, “No way! You had to look after them while they ate?”  
“It seems absolute eternities ago now,” Jan remarked. “You must be in charge of some grotty table full of juniors yourselves now?”  
“Yes, and my lot aren’t half as interesting as we were. None of them have done anything remotely entertaining,” said Nicola.   
“No runaways?” asked Jan.  
“No-one mysteriously dropped from teams, no last minute dramas over parts in plays,” added Miranda.  
“Any chance of beating the Sixth Form to win the Cricket Cup in dazzling style?” suggested Jan.  
“Well, my lot certainly won’t,” said Miranda.  
“They’re a very dull lot,” agreed Nicola.  
“Still, I don’t suppose the dear old school could have coped with much more like you. How are things there?” asked Jan.  
They told her an edited version of the more noteworthy things that had happened over the last three and a half years, but were aware as they talked that school news must seem very dull to someone who had been gone for so long. The arrival of the starters brought the subject to an end. Bhajis and samosas were tried, liked and consumed; and then Jan asked them what they were going to do when they left Kingscote. Nicola rather self-consciously said she was going to Oxford and Miranda said she was going to work in her father’s shop for a year while she decided what course might be most relevant for her to do. They asked Jan rather shyly what she was doing. Jan explained that she was finding some bits of the law deadly dull, but you had to wade through those bits to get to the really fascinating stuff. She admitted that she was really rather enjoying being a student though after all those years cooped up at school. Discussing living in London took them up to the arrival of the main course. They helped themselves to a bit of everything. Nicola decided that Indian food was definitely a good thing, and hoped that an Indian restaurant would open soon in Colebridge.   
Philip turned the subject onto music. Discussing bands and singers they liked or didn’t like lasted most of the meal, until they were all refusing the last scraps of naan bread and the last spoonfuls of curry. They ordered coffee from the reluctant waiter who came to clear the plates, clearly hoping he could pack up soon.  
“And do either of you play anything?” asked Philip.   
“Nicola can sing,” said Jan, without thinking. Nicola looked surprised. Jan didn’t know what had made her embarrass Nicola, coming out with something so aunt-like again, But Nicola’s voice, singing alone in the cathedral, was something that had stayed with her ever since, one of her good memories from Kingscote.  
Philip grinned at Nicola. “Can you?”  
Nicola had chosen the seat opposite Philip so that Miranda would be able to sit opposite Jan. But she had been rather enjoying the view across the chicken biryani. She had once said that she supposed Jan was beautiful if you looked at her properly. With Philip there was no question; he had recognisably the same features as Jan, but it was as if someone had been fiddling with a dial marked ‘attractive’ and turned it to its highest setting. Nicola had never used the word ‘beautiful’ about a man before, but there was no doubt, he was simply stunning. Grey-green eyes, long lashes, straight nose and high cheekbones, framed by a mane of dark blonde hair. Nicola had once compared Jan to a Dresden figurine, but she thought Philip had a face that ought to appear through the groves of some sacred Greek woodland. He was regarding her steadily now.  
“So what do you sing?”  
“Oh, only school stuff. Carols. Songs for plays.”  
“Ever fancy doing anything else?”  
“Not specially. I’m not all that fussed on it really.”  
“Why not?”  
Nicola shrugged. “Just not my thing.”  
“Probably because you’re singing what you‘re told to and it doesn‘t mean anything. You need to find the music that is your thing.”  
Nicola looked sceptical.   
“Seriously though, if you ever fancy trying some stuff out give me a ring,” Philip said. “Just for fun. When you need a break from all that academic brilliance.”  
“I’m not..” began Nicola, blushing, “It’s just a massive fluke really, me going there. And my singing’s nothing special either.”  
Philip grinned, and said lightly, “Jan says you can sing, So you can sing.”  
Nicola, disconcerted, said, “Oh” and was temporarily lost for words.   
Jan cut in, “So how are all the rest of the Marlow hordes. Is Lawrie still going to be an actor?”  
“Oh yes. She got into RADA.”  
“I suppose the Prosser is still paying for everything? Though I’ll never stop thinking that it should have been yours,” said Jan.  
They were the last table in the restaurant. The bill appeared.. Miranda pulled out her wallet, but Philip waved her offer aside. “This is on me. Which is a very rare thing as Jan will know.” He brushed off their thanks, adding, “We’ll see you two to a taxi. You’re not walking anywhere this late at night.”

 

Miranda was quiet in the taxi, and after she had responded to one or two comments with monosyllables, Nicola left her alone with her thoughts. It was not until they were home and undressing in Miranda’s bedroom that she said, “Nick?”  
“Nick here.”  
“Do you remember I once thought Jan seemed to look out for you? At school?”  
“I remember you saying. But I never thought so.”  
“She still is though. She was doing it tonight.”  
“I don’t get you. How on earth?”  
“When her brother was hitting on you. She was practically glaring at him to stop. And changing the conversation.”  
“Really? When?” Nicola was astonished. She didn’t know which was more ridiculous, the idea that Philip had been hitting on her, or the idea that Jan should have been protecting her. “Nonsense,” she said firmly. “He was just being friendly. And what about all that time Jan was talking to you about London.”  
“That wasn’t specially to me,” said Miranda, sounding bruised.  
“Well, it seemed like it to me. She was suggesting good places to go. Where she goes.”  
Miranda was silent again. Nicola carefully hung the leather jacket she had been wearing back in the wardrobe. She was glad she had borrowed it from Miranda; it had made her own plain black T-shirt and jeans into more of an outfit.   
“Good night then,” she said, preparing to pad down the corridor to the rather grand spare room in which she slept when staying at Miranda’s house.  
Miranda’s thoughts clearly changed course. “Oh, another thing Nick. What did she mean, that she always thought it was ‘your Prosser’?”  
Nicola subsided on to the bed. It was an old story. It couldn’t hurt to talk about it now, when they were so close to leaving school anyway. So she told her.

 

Philip walked Jan home.  
“I liked Nicola,” he remarked idly.  
“Oh Phil, don’t,” said Jan instantly. “She’s not..” About to say, she’s not your type, she realised that she didn’t really know what Phil’s type was. “Just don’t.”  
“Why ever not? She’s got a mind of her own, hasn’t she?”  
“More than most actually,” Jan said. “Only she’s a decent kid..” She paused, trying to find the right words. She had seen Nicola hurting at school, and had hated it, because like herself, Nicola tried so hard not to let anyone see.   
“And don’t I deserve someone decent?” asked Phil lightly.  
“No,” answered Jan. “At least, yes, of course you do. But not if it’s just a game to show off how irresistible you are.”  
“Whatever do you take me for?” asked Phil, looking thoughtful. Then, casting her a sly look from under a raised eyebrow, he added, “Anyway, what about your poor Viola?”  
“My what?” Then, realising, “Oh.”  
As a child she had been so used to the way Philip could always tell what she was thinking, that it had come as a surprise to her at school that she had a reputation for being inscrutable. Now she was generally used to people not being able to read her, and it was a shock to be reminded that Phil could.  
“You make it so hard for people to like you,” Phil said now, gently chiding. “The poor girl deserves a medal for persistence in the face of impossible odds.”  
They both giggled slightly. “School is so regimented,” explained Jan. “You can’t really be friends with people who are younger”  
“Well, she won’t be at school soon. She’ll be footloose and fancy free and just down the road.”  
“A bus ride and a couple of stops on the tube more like,” pointed out Jan, practically. “We’re not that likely to bump into each other.”  
“So? Her shop’s in the phone book? You must be up that way sometimes, you could meet for a drink in her lunch break. Two old school friends catching up. What could be more natural?”  
“It’s probably not a good idea.”  
“Look, it’s my turn to give you some advice,” said Philip, very brotherly. “It’s time you had some fun. There’s probably a nice Italian coffee shop near her place, take her for a cappuccino….”  
“She drinks her coffee black,” said Jan automatically, and Phil smiled, his eyes gleaming knowingly in the lamplight. He gave her arm an encouraging squeeze, then they walked on in a companionable silence.  
Jan found herself thinking. It had certainly been a heart-lurching moment when Miranda had appeared along the row behind Nicola, looking like a far fiercer and more disdainful Ariel than she had four years ago. The Tempest now, that was definitely one of her better memories from school, at least once the dreadful Lawrie had been dropped.   
Maybe Phil was right. Maybe she could suggest a meeting. It would only be a coffee, after all. Nothing might come of it. It would depend what they talked about. There might be a good play on somewhere, or a film, that she could mention going to. Very casually, of course. It was a nice idea. Maybe by the summer it would seem like something that she could actually really do.


End file.
